


The 'Gin' in Beginning

by LaBelladoneX



Series: Let The Story Be-gin! [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/pseuds/LaBelladoneX
Summary: AU - Draco and Hermione are teachers at a prodigious private school in Scotland that’s steeped in tartan. After a rocky year of misunderstandings, they finally reveal their feelings to each other. So what happens next? Well... what do you think!Re-edited October 2018.





	The 'Gin' in Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LightofEvolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofEvolution/gifts).



> I advise you read The ‘Gin’ in Longing first to get a proper feel for the story. However - for all you smut-desperate fans out there - this can be read on its own (sorry for delaying you, read on! LOL!) Beta hearts to In Dreams and love to coyg-81, the biggest cheerleader for smutty fics!

 

 _“I thought you broke my heart, Draco.” Hermione rubbed stray teardrops from her eyelashes. “This year has been hell without you in it. I’ve been in love with you for so long.”_  
_  
_ He stood up, his smile causing her breath to catch. She rose from the sofa and joined him in front of the roaring fire. And it was there, under a sprig of mistletoe, that — one year later than originally planned — Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger.

* * *

Their kiss was soft; so beautifully tender. Hermione’s hands were resting against Draco’s chest, the smoothness of his shirt caressing her palms as she slid her fingers across the material. He was more cautious; his hands firmly on her bare shoulders as he held her tight.

Draco desperately wanted to move faster — to tear her dress to shreds and devour her body. Her beauty alone had brought him agony and ecstasy for almost a year as he’d pleasured himself to empty fulfillment over and over but, now that she was in his arms, he knew that this was a moment to savour — to last.

“Hermione,” he murmured against her lips, breathing in her sigh, “did you wear that dress for me?”

She pulled back slightly, looking up to his handsome face. “You noticed?”

“How could I not?” he smiled, setting her nerves on edge. _No wonder all the female students adored him._ “Vintage Dior, like the one Ingrid Bergman wore in Indiscreet. How— ”

“It’s not real Dior! I’m only a teacher here, not one of the parents!”

He laughed at that; a sound Hermione knew she wanted to hear every day for the rest of her life.

“I found it online,” she continued. “I thought of you immediately. Before I knew what I’d done, I’d bought it.”

Draco hummed in appreciation, his fingers toying with the straps of the gold dress. “I’m really glad you did, Hermione. But, beautiful as it is, I think I’d rather see it on a hanger and not on you.”

Hermione couldn’t speak; she was enthralled by the darkness of his eyes as he gazed down at her before turning his attention back to her dress. Slowly he pushed the left strap from her shoulder, his eyes following the movement of the lamé. He turned his head to her other side then, carefully sliding the material down her arm as far as it would go.

The front of the dress fell forward as the straps no longer held it in place, bringing her breasts into view. Draco tilted his head to the side a little, his eyes still focused on the caress of his fingers as he traced them across her collarbones before dipping between her breasts. Hermione was frozen to the spot; she had completely lost the ability to think or move. The way Draco was making her feel surpassed any reasonable thought, and it was intoxicating.

She closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush as he continued his investigation of her breasts. His other hand was sitting casually in his trouser pocket, as if he was standing at a bar awaiting his drink. The open neck of his dress shirt revealed skin that longed to be kissed and explored by her own wandering fingers, but that would have to wait. He had her under his spell and Hermione had no way to escape. Nor did she want to.

Draco’s fingers trailed across her taut nipples, bringing a sharp intake of breath from his bewitched captive. He frowned slightly — as if the noise reminded him that he wasn’t alone — and removed his hand, Hermione immediately mourning the loss of his touch, searching his face for an explanation but Draco just winked and walked around behind her.

They never spoke; the only sound in the room came from Hermione’s breath as it grew louder. Her skin was tingling, the blood in her veins pumping with renewed energy as she fell completely under his spell.

Draco’s hands slid across her bare shoulders, trailing down her back to the zip of the dress, then — ever so slowly — he pulled the small device down and separated the material. He reached around to release Hermione’s arms from the straps, pushing the dress down to the ground. It pooled in a heap around her feet and he grasped her hand to help her step out of the garment.

She stood with her back to him, naked except for her lucky knickers — what girl doesn’t have a pair of lucky knickers? — scarlet lace boy shorts that accentuated the shape of her arse.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

She couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

Draco gathered up the dress and lay it across the armchair that currently held his jacket and bowtie. He returned to her, pressing his chest against her back, turning her to face the fire’s dancing flame.

“You have my heart, Hermione Granger,” he murmured against her ear. “I don’t want it back.”

She opened her mouth to reply but the feel of his lips across her shoulders, as he carefully moved her long brunette curls out of the way, stole her breath.

Draco’s hands slid down the sides of her body, setting her skin alight with desire. His fingers hooked her knickers and he slowly dragged them down her legs, planting soft kisses along her spine as he lowered himself down to the ground.

He reached for her hand again and, when she raised each sandalled foot, he caressed her legs as he pulled the lace material down. They never made it to the floor; he pocketed them before standing back up and holding her body against his.

“You are exquisite, Hermione,” he commented, sliding his hands around to her stomach, “I’ve spent so long imagining you in my arms.”

Draco began to caress her breasts with his fingers pointing in towards each other. Then — inch by agonizing inch — he pulled his hands out to the sides, Hermione’s nipples squeezing between his index and middle fingers. He let his little fingers trail along the skin below her breasts.

The sensation was like the most beautiful torture. Hermione felt like his captive; if he asked, her body would sing for him.

Hermione could feel her arousal dampening the tops of her thighs and she pressed them together, groaning with the effort. Her arms reached up to glide around Draco’s neck as her fingers threaded through the blond hair she longed to touch anytime she saw him.

“Are you wet for me, my love?”

She could hardly breathe. “Yes,” she gasped. “Touch me.”

Draco’s right hand moved down her body, stopping at her smooth mound.

“Bare? Quite the turn on.”

“I read—”

“Shh, Miss Granger. No class discussion here. Just… feel my fingers.”

As he spoke, Draco reached between her legs and dragged his middle finger along her slit, the digit glistening with fluid as he lifted his hand towards her face, trailing the moistened skin along her lip. Hermione flicked out her tongue to taste herself, earning a moan of approval from Draco.

He returned his hand to her folds, circling her clit, and pushing gently against her public bone.

“Why did you wear the dress for me, Hermione?”

“I wanted you to — _gasp_ — notice… I...”

“You what?”

“I wanted you to talk to me… Draco, _please—_ ”

Draco hummed against her ear, his fingers torturing her in the most sensual way. It was agony, but it was divine.

“Keep your eyes closed, my love. Feel my hand on your breasts, caressing your soft skin and those tightened nipples. My touch has them hard and tender, doesn’t it? And my fingers around your clit. What does that feel like? Hmm?”

Hermione was breathing heavily, holding onto his neck tightly as he brought her closer to the sweetest release. He was completely supporting her body at this stage, her knees threatening to give way as he spoke loving words and caressed her delicate skin.

It was too much; she cried out as waves of pleasure filled her womb and spread to every nerve. Hermione’s legs no longer had the strength to support her shaking body so Draco carefully lowered her down onto the Royal Stewart tartan rug that lay in front of the crackling fire.

“The flames make your skin glow,” he observed as she caught her breath. “You are stunning.”

He let her go, allowing Hermione the chance to stretch along the rug and compose herself after her orgasm.

“Mmmm,” she purred. “Thank you.”

Draco was on his knees beside her, running a finger between her breasts and circling her navel.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled at her.

_Dear God, how is he so sexy?_

Draco pulled the throw from the couch and gently laid it across Hermione’s skin, before standing up and moving towards the armchair where her dress was lying on top of his jacket.

“More bloody tartan,” he quipped. “What is it with that woman and tartan?”

He casually began to undress as he spoke, carrying out the task as if disrobing in front of Hermione was the most natural thing in the world. She sat up to watch him, biting her lip in anticipation of seeing him naked, certain her fantasies wouldn’t do him justice.

“Em… McGonagall loves her… tartan,” she stuttered, holding the material to her chest and not taking her eyes from his newly revealed — and superbly fit — body. “The throw is Clan Stuart, from one of the Highland clans. The rug is from the House of—”

Draco Malfoy was now naked in front of her, his eyebrow quirked as he walked back to the fire, slowly dropping to his knees.

“The rug is from where?”

There were no words; Hermione’s mouth was dry.

His body was sublime; a perfect mix of muscle and smooth flesh. A scar marred his sculpted chest, catching Hermione’s eye as she tried to avoid staring at his erection.

“I’ll tell you about it one day,” Draco whispered. “It’s not important now.”

“The… em… House of… Stewart,” she breathed.

He laughed out loud, pulling the tartan away and reaching back to remove her sandals. Even that task sent erotic shivers from her feet to her pulsing core. Setting the footwear aside, he moved forward gracefully, placing his lips on hers and using the force to push Hermione back down onto the Lowland clan’s rug.

The feel of their bodies in contact, skin against skin, had them both pressing harder into the kiss, demanding more from each other. Hermione’s fingers began to explore from his shoulders down to his hips, grabbing his cheeks to pull his body closer, causing him to gasp against her mouth as her nails marked him.

His arms were wrapped around her neck, holding her head up off the floor. Draco was sure he was squashing her underneath him but he couldn’t move away — the feel of her body was addictive and he was a lost cause.

Hermione moaned with need, reaching down to caress him, to take him her her hand and bring him as much pleasure as he had gifted her moments before.

Draco was hard; long, thick, and hard. For her. It was an intoxicating feeling and she felt almost dizzy from the power of knowing she made him feel this way. She rocked her body gently against his — their kiss never breaking — as she stroked and caressed him. The sounds he breathed into her were like music’s most beautiful notes.

Hermione was lost to him; she had spent almost a year wanting Draco Malfoy — dreaming of his eyes, his lips, his touch — the feeling of being in his arms was overwhelming.

He broke the kiss eventually, his lips still feathering across her mouth.

“I love you.”

“Draco,” Hermione’s voice wavered. “I never thought—”

“Shh, my love.” He stopped to look  at her. She was beautiful, she was in his arms — where she should have been one year ago. “I didn’t think we’d be here either but, _my God_ , I’ve wanted you. So badly.”

A lone tear escaped Hermione’s lashes. “I love you,” she whispered.

Draco kissed away the tear. “No more, Hermione. No more wanting.”

She smiled, an expression of pure love radiating from her. “No more waiting, Draco... please.”

He moved them as one, reaching down to slide himself against her waiting core. She was so ready for him, he entered her as if their bodies were made only for each other.

As the Christmas party-goers passed by Hermione’s door chatting and laughing, her room was filled with the delicate sighs and whispers of a couple who longed to be together and almost missed their chance. But the fates had been kind and now they lay together, promising each other their love for an eternity — until Scotland runs out of tartan.

“I wonder how Potter’s getting on with your friend,” Draco mused, his fingers tracing circles along her spine. “He froze on the spot when he saw her.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear all the gory details,” Hermione laughed, “in technicolour.”

“Well, that just leaves Riddle to set up with someone.”

“What about McLaggen?” She grinned, turning onto her side to face him. Draco’s fingers ran up and down her side, sending glorious shivers pulsing through her.

“He’d shag his own reflection,” Draco snorted. “It’s just Riddle left. The last time I saw you talking to him, he stood too close and touched you on the arm. _Fuck_ , I wanted to feed him to his own pet snake—”

“What?”

“Yeah, haven’t you seen it? He keeps it in his room, big fucking thing. I swear he’s as obsessed with _it_ as he is with Potter.”

“Draco?”

“Hmm?”

“Do we have to talk about the staff?”

He leaned his head closer, brushing his lips over her cheek as his roaming hand kneaded her arse.

“You’re right. I have a better idea.”

He rolled Hermione onto her back and spread her legs. She quirked her eyebrow, fully expecting Draco to pleasure her waiting body again — he was more than ready — but he picked up his gin and tonic and, dipping his fingers into the glass, trailed the liquid across her mound, following the sticky path with his tongue. He repeated the process a few times, much to her amusement, catching her completely off guard when he pinched her clit in his teeth and plunged his wet fingers inside her.

“Oh my God, Draco,” she cried out, arching her back, “you’re putting gin in my vagina!”

He smiled against her folds, flicking his tongue out to lick her swollen nub, and looking up her body to her flushed face.

“I’m putting gin in the beginning of another round, Hermione.”

* * *

Draco lay beside Hermione on the couch a while later, exhausted but too comfortable to move to the bed. She was fast asleep in his arms and he was taking a moment to gaze at her, silently thanking whatever deity deemed him worthy to love her.

A commotion outside caught his attention and he instantly pulled her closer to him, shielding her from the noise.

“Come on, McLaggen,” Riddle moaned. “This way, come on.”

The drunken slur of the fucking French-teaching twat could be heard as he bounced off the walls and doors in the corridor outside.

“Gr-Grangerrrrr…” he blubbered. “I’ll ‘ave ‘er. Va-va-valmentine’s D-day. Th-that arse is m-mine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Riddle cursed him under his breath. “Whatever.”

A few feet away, behind a closed door, Draco brushed his lips against Hermione’s forehead before laying his head down beside hers.

“Oh, no,” he whispered. “She’s _my_ Valentine.”

_And we’ll keep going..._

 


End file.
